This past August my middlest daughter married her fiancé in a small ceremony that was as unique as the two of them. That being said, one moment of entertainment occurred during the service when my daughter recited her self-composed vows by reading them from her Windows Phone.

As a Microsoft Dad, this was too amusing to keep to myself, so I forwarded a photo to some of the folks in the Windows Phone division, and the story was picked up by the Windows Blog team, which published my daughter's description of the event as "First Person: With this phone, I thee wed"

"The wedding was in a little white chapel, up against a mountain, near the ocean. We wanted a simple, elegant wedding that represented us. We went through all the different weddings we'd seen - do we want to mix the sand? light a unity candle? - but we decided that wasn't really us. So we cut out all the things that weren't really us, and wrote our own vows.

"My phone is the thing I always have on me, so when I needed to write my vows I used Office on my phone. Whenever I thought of something I wanted to add, I could just jot it down. When it came to the day of, I thought maybe I should write it on a piece of paper. Then the minister said, 'Why not just read it off your phone?'

"My husband didn't know I was going to read off my phone. He said his vows off paper, and when it was my turn I looked at the pastor and she pulled out my phone and handed it to me. Everyone laughed - it made it a little more lighthearted, so we weren't bawling.

"My husband laughed, because I'm on my phone all the time, and he's on his. So I'm sure he wished he had thought of it. Now the vows are saved on my phone, and every time I want to go back and read them, I can. Meanwhile, his piece of paper is floating around somewhere - I don't even know where it is."

Conflict: A period of major conflict between societal elements or geographical areas within the civilization.

Empire: The development of a universal empire ruling over the entire civilization, which far from being a golden age represents a precursor to decay and collapse.

Decay: The decay of the civilization as exemplified in the ossification of institutions and structures within the empire.

Collapse/Invasion: The collapse of the civilization, usually through invasion by a younger civilization that is in the expansion phase.

Every great civilization has gone through this formula - with no exceptions.

From my perspective, the history of the United States has emerged in the following way:

Our Mixture phase was pre-1750s as European settlers began to arrive and colonize the East Coast.

Gestation followed the 1750s through the early 1800s as the colonists won their independence from European rule and began to establish a new nation.

Expansion was from the early 1800s through the 1860s as the new nation pushed west toward the Pacific Ocean.

Conflict was from 1860s through the latter 1800s as the United States grappled with the Civil War and its aftermath.

Empire was from the latter 1800s through the latter 1950s as the reunified United States fought a series of World Wars and established itself as a dominant world power.

Decay began in the late 1950s and early 1960s as the generation born during the post-WWII Baby Boom spat on the prosperity that had been fought for and freely given to them, and all vestiges of ethical and moral standards were removed from public education. This period was marked by dramatic rises in crime rates, drug proliferation, corruption, divorce, unemployment, abortions-on-demand, corporate greed, and worst of all - the political ineptitude which prevents anything from being done about it.

According to Mr. Quigley's formula, all that the United States have left to face are Collapse and Invasion; civilizations do not recover once they have entered the Decay phase.

What is tragically ironic is that the people who vociferously claim to be trying to save the United States, namely Progressives and Liberals, are actually doing the most damage. As Quigley illustrates in his book, when members of a civilization become so preoccupied with arguing about what they perceive are their "rights" instead of contributing to society and adhering to an ethical set of standards or morals, the fabric of civilization unravels, and eventually implodes as an emerging civilization invades and conquers.

In this present day and age, people are rushing headlong into their inevitable demise; all the while they are wearing blinders which prevent them from seeing what is obvious to the less-outspoken of their peers. It is a sad manifestation of The Emperor's New Clothes; and even though the irony is missed by those who are too foolish to see themselves as members of the deceived, future generations will have the perspective granted by history with which to judge this time period with impartiality (and thereby with greater accuracy).

Several hundred years from now, historians of that coming era will look back with amazement as they analyze how the American civilization was ripped apart by the selfish desires of those who claimed to be acting in the best interests of society.

Back in the 1980s I was a big fan of the Canadian Power Trio named "Triumph." As far as arena rock was concerned, few bands could put on a show that was anywhere near as entertaining as a Triumph concert. It wasn't just about being a fan - there are any number of great bands out there who could put on a good show if you already liked them; but Triumph put on a killer show whether you liked them or not.

At the height of their popularity, Triumph recorded what was to become one of their greatest hits, which was a song that was titled "Fight the Good Fight." Many guitar players - myself included - spent a good deal of time learning that song, and I always enjoyed playing it live in the various rock bands that I played in throughout my teenage years.

As the first official day of Autumn is just around the corner here in Seattle, the opening lines to "Fight the Good Fight" seem to take on special meaning:

"The days grow shorter, And the nights are getting long. Feels like we're running out of time."

As I look out of my office window, that's exactly what I see:

Our short-lived Pacific Northwest Summer appears to have come to a close, and the clouds seem like they're here for the duration. The sun is setting a little earlier each day, and within a few months the choleric combination of miserable mists and depressing dusk will shorten the average day to six hours or less of daylight. And yet the most discouraging fact that I have to wrestle with today is the knowledge that the weather will be this way for the next nine months.

[I exhale a deep sigh...]

Three months from now is the Winter Solstice, at which time we will confront the shortest day of the year; after that, we will at least have the small consolation that each day will be a little longer than the last, but we still won't see much of the sun until sometime next June or July.

My middle daughter turned 24 last week. This was a significant occasion by itself, but it was made even more significant because I had just walked her down the aisle only three weeks earlier when she married a great guy from Vancouver, BC.

It seems like only yesterday that I was teaching her how to brush her teeth, how to ride a bicycle, and how to write an English paper that didn't sound like she was talking to one of her friends on the telephone.

It's the momentous events like these which make you sit back and wonder where the time went. It's been nearly thirty years since I became a "legal adult," but I still don't feel like I'm a "grown up." I still want to believe that my dad is the grown-up and I am just some long-haired kid from Arizona.

But it's easy for me to do the math - in a few short years my oldest daughter will turn thirty, so I must have grown up at some point; I just can't remember when.

I freely admit that I am a "Dog Person." What's more, I am blessed to have married another dog person - we both love dogs, and this is generally a good thing. My wife grew up surrounded by dogs, as did I.

My wife and I spent the first ten years of our marriage in poverty or in the military, and unfortunately being in the military is a lot like being in poverty. Just the same, we had been married ten years before the two of us were finally able to get a dog. Our first dog was a yellow Labrador Retriever named "Barney." Unfortunately, Barney had been mistreated by a previous owner and we were not able to keep him.

Our next dog was wonderful - we got a Bouvier des Flandres, who became a part of our family for the next eleven years. We named him "Ruff Waldo Emerson," which we shortened to Emerson. I had never owned a herding dog before, and it was a lot of fun to watch the way that he took care of our family: he would patiently wait by the door for the kids to arrive home safely from school, and he would try to push me out of my desk chair when he decided that it was time for me to go to bed.

Our most recent dog was a red-haired Golden Retriever, who our son named "Rook." (Our son, Peter, was heavily into chess at the time.) Rook was a great dog, and I now see why so many people love Golden Retrievers. Sadly, Rook died of a fast-acting bone cancer when he was just eight years old.

All of this is simply an introduction in order to offer proof that I am a dog lover. But that being said, I am decidedly not a "Cat Person." I am allergic to cats, which I think is God's way of saying that man isn't meant to coexist with cats. My daughter has a cat, and her cat seems to like me more than anyone else that comes to visit - which seems to be due to the fact that I ignore it.

Here are several of my thoughts on dogs versus cats:

Dogs have masters, cats have servants.

When stranded in an avalanche, no one looks for a cat to rescue them.

Who cares if cats kill mice? Why not just raise mice and skip a step? My friend has cats which drag live mice into the house - ostensibly to kill them - but eventually the cats lose the mice somewhere inside the house.

Dogs are faithful and loyal; cats are selfish and fickle.

If you pet a dog, the dog thinks, "Wow - he likes me; he's so wonderful." If you pet a cat, the cat thinks, "Wow - he likes me; I'm so wonderful."

No one takes a cat hiking.

Dogs can be trained to search for explosives, provide eyesight for the blind, haul loaded sleds across hundreds of miles of hostile terrain, sense a variety of medical conditions, guide herds of animals without supervision, and a host of other important tasks. Cats can be trained to poop in a box.

The debate over which is better – dogs or cats - is ages old, and not likely to ever be resolved. But in my estimation, dogs will always be man's best friend, while cats will remain - at best - frenemies.

This 11th entry from the annals of 511th MI Company history is a continuation of the jokes that I introduced in my last post. As a quick reminder, these entries were all collected from the voluminous number of utterly useless messages that we sent back and forth between the EW platoons over the ASAS datalink system in the TRQ-32s.

The Official EW2 List of Things "Not to Do with Coffee"

Don't make oatmeal with coffee

Don't drink mess hall coffee after eating red lifesavers

Don't drink mess hall coffee, period

Don't let Paski near a full cup of coffee while on pos, unless you want to wear it

Don't let Alex, Fred, or J.J. near a full pot of coffee and an ASAS Datalink

Don't wash your field socks in coffee

Don't use coffee as brake, hydraulic, or windshield wiper fluid (However, you can use it for rust removal)

Don't yodel with your mouth full of coffee

Don't puke, piss, or pop pimples in a pot of coffee

Don't deploy to the field without lots of it

(J.J. Simmons and Bob McMurray, "Caravan Guard" 1989)

A Story

[Note: As if we hadn’t picked on 1LT Stahl enough, I wrote the following story about him. (Of course, D.A.T. means "Dumb Ass Tanker".)]

Once upon a time, all was well in E.W. land. The birds were singing and the jammers were jamming. Happiness just seemed to flow from everything about the EWites. Their lives were simple yet full of good cheer. They truly loved the work that they did and fancied to themselves that maybe it was important for some reason.

But then one day, "IT" came to town. The dreaded D.A.T.-Beast that they had all heard rumors of. There was no way to stop it. No way to prepare. No time to run or hide. It fell upon the helpless EWites and viscously attacked them. It tore at their very hearts as if it derived joy from seeing others suffer. It held no concept of the work that they tried so hard to do. It scarred their precious COMSEC habits. It had no life of its own, and thus it began to feed on the lives of others like some inhuman vampire of man's very essence.

It possessed no concept of right or wrong. It sought only self-importance and personal gain - the incredible irony to the role in which it chose to masquerade itself; an Army officer. By design the title should reflect an attitude of responsibility, accompanied by a genuine sense of caring for the well-being of its subordinates. But the Beast held not one endearing trait as a leader of men. A thoughtless, soulless specter shaped like a man. An empty, hollow shell that somehow tried to crush the will of others to bring itself some sadistic form of pleasure.

In its arrogance and pride, it has the audacity to raise its head in a flare of self-righteous temper and cry, "How dare you question my judgment?" when its imperfections are exposed. But therein lies its tragic flaw; for no puffed up ego that rests upon one's shoulders can lay low enough to duck through every door. Sooner or later it comes crashing to the ground at the wrong time yet in the right place, and if all luck prevails the Beast will die in some strange way. The hope remains that this mass of flesh that torments man will indeed fall prey to the traps that it laid for others, and some as yet unseen force will attack and purge this cancerous ego infection from the Beast, leaving enough to mold into a shape more closely resembling a man.

(Bob "Fred" McMurray, "Bold Lancer" 1989)

The World: Man's Future Foretold...

Life as we know it, has ended.
The nations of the world have all been devastated by a massive nuclear war.
Civilization is no more.
The peoples of the world are massing together in an effort to reclaim their lives.
The leader of the masses has been designated Emperor of the World.
The Emperor has maintained order in America the ten years since WWIII.
Very few oppose the emperor; those who do wish for a quick death.
Damnation of the rebels is personally levied by the hand of the emperor:
J.J. Slayer.
Are you damned in this Hell???????

(J.J. Simmons, Caravan Guard, 1989)

Bad DF-Ville (Sung to the tune of Margaritaville)

Wasting away again in Bad DF-Ville,
Searching for my lost OPFOR freq.
Some people say that there's an LT to blame,
But I know, that it's all TCAE's fault.

DF's and fixes, we all know what we're missin'.
We don't have a clue where the enemy stays.
"Gimme a grid square...I don't care where,"
That's all we hear from the TCAE goons.
But it don't matter, ignore the radio chatter.
Don't even bother, you'll be jumping real soon.

Wasting away again in Bad DF-Ville,
Searching for my lost OPFOR freq.
Some people say that the Blue LT is to blame,
But I know, that it's all TCAE's fault.

(Bill McCollum, Hohenfels 1990)

That wraps it up for this post, but I have a few more jokes in my files to post in the future.

This post marks the 10th installment in my series on the 511th MI Company. So far I have posted all of the lists that I had collected, and I've included some stories along the way. Today's post is a little different - I also collected a bunch of jokes that the ESM squads from the two EW platoons sent back and forth over the TRQ-32's ASAS system. I thought that it might be amusing to let everyone see what we thought was funny at the time. ;-]

In the text file that I had used to collect these jokes I had added the following dedication:

These works best represent the attitudes and feelings shared by most who have sat rack upon the "Pos of Sorrow" at one time or another. They are not always intended to offend, though they sometimes do, but rather to show a rare moment of humor in what might otherwise be a dull and boring life.

To all who wear the Blackhorse, I say with the utmost of heartfelt sincerity and emotion, "Get out of the Army while you still can!"

For each of the jokes that were sent, I managed to write down who sent them and what field problem we were deployed on when I collected them.

Selected Titles from the J. Irwin Rumplemeyer Memorial Book Club

There are many titles to chose from when you join the J. Irwin Rumplemeyer Memorial Book Club. Famous authors, quality works.

Trotting across Zaire

I suck, you suck (Speak for yourself, Spanky)

The Spankmeister of Fulda Gap

Thermonuclear Racquetball: Applied theories

Opussum Huntin' with Billy Bob Redneck

The Chairborne Rangers: Tales from the Orderly Room

How to make two small hats from a brassiere

John Carter, Warlord of Mars versus Andy Griffith

Roadkill: It's not just for breakfast anymore

Tremble your way to fitness

Eat right, stay fit, and die anyway

Getting the point across with Plastique

The Donner Party Cookbook: Frontier recipes with a twist

It's not easy being a complete Putz: Biography of an XO

The Black and Decker home facial reconstruction kit

The Petroleum Jelly Diet

What every 98G should know, but doesn't ask. (Who cares!)

Dude, get a clue.

Coming of age, new NCO's speak out.

Gandhi, story of an abused child.

Does Fu Man Chu?

Thatcher and Reagan: Portrait of a lust affair

The life and times of 34 extremely short Saints

True Confessions: I was a Democrat!!

"Is safe sex in a car, intercourse with the seatbelts on?"

How to net with a 32(V) and get a date at the same time

Sex and the 98G, or Wahhh!!

Spanking: An in-depth study of milk and ************

Milk: It's not just for drinking!

Field Duty: It's not just a job, it's boring!!!!!

Toxic Dumps: A guide to vacationing in America

(By Dave Paski, "Bold Lancer" 1989)

Note: I believe that Paski's "Biography of an XO" book was in reference to 1LT Stahl, who was thrust on the 511th for several months as Company XO until our CO managed to find a way to push him off on some other unsuspecting Company.

Here's a story that typifies why I liked MAJ Quinn, and it provides a great illustration of the old adage that good things come to those who wait. Sorry that it's a little longer than most of my other posts.

Part 1 - The Mail Run

In October of 1990, the 511th MI Company deployed to Mt. Meissner for the month. Duty was pretty typical: you'd spend a few days pulling rotations in the vault chasing bad guys or on guard duty, and then you'd have a day off. Time off at Mt. Meissner didn't offer many activities; your options were mostly limited to playing racquetball, watching stale videotapes of AFN programming in the lounge, reading a book, playing cards, or hiking. I think that by this time the no alcohol policy might have been put into effect, seeing as how someone from another unit had flipped their vehicle off the mountain in an alcohol-related incident, so the guys that drank were deprived of that as well.

I think that I was reading a book on one of my days off when SGT DeGrood dropped by the room and asked if I'd be willing to ride shotgun back to Fulda for a mail run. The military had a two-person requirement for military vehicles, so DeGrood simply needed someone to fill the vacant seat. Even though it was my day off, I didn't have anything better to do, so I agreed to go along for the ride. Bear in mind, I was married and I lived off-post, so we wouldn't be picking up my mail on this run - this was just for the single guys' mail. I just figured, "what the heck," so I got into uniform and we drove off in MI-59.

As we approached Fulda, DeGrood mentioned that he'd like to drop by the finance office on Downs Barracks to cash a check. That sounded fine to me - I was just along for the ride. After he cashed his check, we climbed back into MI-59 - and the darn thing wouldn't start. We popped the hood and we checked what we could, but we couldn't figure out what was wrong - this day was obviously not turning out as we had expected. We had few options, so we figured that we could walk down to the PX area and catch the shuttle back to Sickels Airfield where the 511th was located, ostensibly to get the wrecker to tow MI-59 to the Motor Pool (MOPO) for repairs. It took us a few minutes to walk down to the shuttle stop, and DeGrood sat down on the bench near the stop while I leaned against the sign for the shuttle.

I had been looking towards the PX, which was in a different direction than where DeGrood was sitting. When I turned around, I saw the Regimental Commander (RCO), COL Bacevich, approaching the shuttle stop. I snapped to attention and saluted as I rendered the greeting of the day, but DeGrood was looking at the ground, apparently lost in thought. The RCO came to a stop right in front of DeGrood, who suddenly noticed that someone was in front of him and he looked up. When he recognized the RCO, he immediately jumped to attention and saluted.

COL Bacevich asked what the @#$% was DeGrood doing there, and DeGrood started to explain that he was waiting for the shuttle to the airfield when the RCO cut him off. I don't remember what the RCO was yelling at him, but I attempted to interject and explain that our vehicle had died and we needed to get the wrecker from the airfield, and then the RCO started yelling at me. I don't recall his exact words, but he said some pretty awful things and made some completely baseless accusations about DeGrood and me wasting time when we should be on duty. Bear in mind - all of this was in front of a large crowd at the shuttle stop and pretty humiliating. Eventually the RCO ordered DeGrood and me to walk back to the airfield and have our CO (CPT Quinn) call him and explain our behavior. I have no idea what expression was on my face, but I looked at DeGrood, and he looked back at me with that half-grin that he always had - that same grin that he made right after he made a joke about your wife or something. We looked at each other for a second, then we both turned back to the RCO and said, "Yes, sir." Then we started the long walk back to the airfield.

Truth be told, the walk to Sickels airfield and the 511th was perhaps a mile at the most, but it was aggravating because there was a principle involved; I was pretty offended, as was DeGrood, but I think that after we got over the initial shock of what had just happened we started to make a few jokes about the situation.

We eventually arrived at the 511th, and as we were walking down the road that led from the airfield HQ to the 511th barracks, we could see that CPT Quinn was holding a staff meeting in the cafeteria. CPT Quinn caught sight of us, and since we were obviously on foot when we were supposed to be in Mt. Meissner, he walked out to greet us and said, "This has got to be a good story." We filled him in on the details about what had just happened, and we let him know that the RCO was expecting a call. CPT Quinn said not to worry about it, and that he would take care of everything.

So now DeGrood and I went back into vehicle recovery mode. We went to the MOPO to get some of the maintenance guys to take the wrecker over to Downs Barracks and pick up MI-59. After we towed it back to the MOPO, we worked with the maintenance guys until MI-59 was back up and running. By this point it was evening - and the one bright point of my day was that my wife dropped by to pick up our mail so I got to see her for a few minutes.

Once we had MI-59 ready to go and we had packed it with the mail for everyone at Mt. Meissner, I dropped by CPT Quinn's office to let him know that we were leaving. CPT Quinn said that he had called COL Bacevich and tried to explain what the situation was, but the RCO had cut him off and said something to the effect that "CPT Quinn's NCOs had AAFES shopping bags," so he was upset that we were shopping in the PX when we were supposed to be on duty. I explained to CPT Quinn that we didn't have any shopping bags - and CPT Quinn had met us as we were walking up the the barracks empty-handed, so he knew that we were telling the truth. CPT Quinn remarked that "in that case, the RCO is simply out to save face - and he'll lie about it if he has to."

Then CPT Quinn advised us to avoid the RCO if at all possible - that's when I had to drop a bombshell: the RCO was scheduled to visit Mt. Meissner within the next few days. CPT Quinn asked if we could stay out of sight, but I informed him that I had already been scheduled to deliver the operations briefing. CPT Quinn told me, "That had better be one damn good briefing," and then he told DeGrood to stay hidden as much as possible.

Part 2 - Payback

After a few days, DeGrood and I were still pretty upset. We had talked a couple of times about whether there was anything that we could do from a legal perspective - but unfortunately the Army is what it is. If someone abuses their power and position, more often than not they get away with it.

Eventually the day arrived for the RCO's visit to Mt. Meissner. At some point they brought the RCO, his staff & entourage, and CPT Quinn to the vault, where I proceeded to give them a detailed briefing on everything that we had been doing at Mt. Meissner. I followed my briefing by giving everyone a tour of the vault area and the antenna fields, then I took them on a brief tour of the main buildings and barracks areas, and I ended the tour in the cafeteria.

COL Bacevich stuck out his hand and thanked me for a great briefing and tour, then he turned to CPT Quinn and asked, "So this is where your NCOs claim that they're making their mail runs from?" I was momentarily speechless, which wasn't like me in those days - usually I spoke without thinking. But the statement caught me totally off guard. Apparently it had caught CPT Quinn off guard as well, and he asked, "What?" The RCO cracked a smile and said, "You know, those two NCOs that I caught goofing off on duty the other day." I could not believe this - not only had the RCO completely failed to notice who I was - but he was now recounting his warped version of the story to CPT Quinn right in front of me.

At this point - I have no idea what came over me other than a complete lack of respect for my sense of self-preservation and I said, "Sir, I was one of those two NCOs." COL Bacevich was momentarily surprised, but then he picked up his story again by saying, "So you're one of those two NCOs that I caught shamming on duty?" I was suddenly emboldened by his arrogance, and I managed to keep my cool as I said something like, "No, sir - I wasn't even on duty that day. I was only in uniform because I volunteered to ride shotgun so that the single guys could get their mail." I continued to tell the real story of how MI-59 had broken down next the the finance office, how we wanted to take the shuttle to the airfield to get the wrecker, how we were humiliated in front of our peers by him, and how wrongly he had treated the entire situation.

The more that I spoke, the lower COL Bacevich's eyes sank towards the ground, and the further his staff and entourage backed away from him. I don't recall how long I spoke or everything that I said - but I know that I chose my words carefully (for a change) and Idid my best to say everything in a respectful manner, even though I was making it clear to everyone in attendance that the RCO had behaved like a complete ass.

Once I had finished, COL Bacevich stared at the ground in front of me for a little bit, then he looked up at his entourage for help - but no one would make eye contact with him. He resumed staring at the ground, shifted in his feet a little, then he mumbled, "That's not the way that I understood the story the other day."

And then, before I could do anything about it, my mouth opened on its own and the following words spilled out: "That's okay, sir - let bygones be bygones. I've gotta get back to work. Thanks!" And I left the cafeteria. I swear that my brain was not involved in that final process - which is probably pretty obvious to everyone who reads this. It wasn't one of my most eloquent speech endings - but once it was said there was no taking it back.

I went back to the vault, where I met up with DeGrood (who was now out of hiding) and everyone else. As I was telling everyone what had just happened, CPT Quinn entered the vault. He walked up to me and kind of cocked his head to one side - like a dog trying to figure something out. After a brief pause he asked, "'Let bygones be bygones?' What the hell does that mean?" I replied, "Honestly, sir - I have no idea what that meant." CPT Quinn laughed, then asked if I still wanted to pursue anything against COL Bacevich. I replied that my desire for retribution had been satisfied; the RCO had humiliated me without cause, and I had humiliated him with cause.

Part 3 - Epilogue

In another of those weird, full-circle occurrences - the story didn't end there. DeGrood and I had orders to PCS back to the states when we finished up at Mt. Meissner, but fate was about to play a dirty trick on us. The Army was gearing up for the first Gulf War, and I was days away from having my household goods picked up and shipped to the states when the Army issued orders to freeze everyone at their present duty station. I did not react well to this news - but CPT Quinn was kind enough to attempt to see if anything could be done. Unfortunately, nothing could be done; this was an Army-wide policy, and the only exception to policy was if your household goods had been picked up - and I fell short by six days.

DeGrood and I were both in the same boat - we were both days away from our PCS dates and our orders were rescinded. But it wasn't just hard on DeGrood and me - there were several people who were about to ETS that were frozen in station as well. SPC Meyer's father had a heart attack, and while his father was recuperating his poor mother was trying to work their family farm by herself. I watched Meyers descend from his normal, outgoing, optimistic, happy-go-lucky self to a person who was withdrawn and quiet. I can't imagine what those months were like for him.

The 11th ACR was not going to be deployed to the Gulf, so we went into a holding pattern while every other unit in Germany that was being deployed started gutting us for everything that we had. (Radios, vehicle parts, etc.) It was around this time that CPT Quinn allowed me to go home on leave for Christmas to help alleviate some of my misery. Since my wife and I hadn't been home in three years, I have always appreciated that gesture more than he ever knew.

Skipping ahead a few months, the first Gulf War had ended, and the military started letting people ETS and PCS again. Meyers was finally able to go home, and I was really happy for him. Eventually the day arrived when DeGrood and I got our new orders - I was going to PCS on something like July 4th of 1991, and DeGrood was leaving within a couple days of my departure.

That was when the Army played its next wildcard - the 11th ACR received orders to deploy to the Gulf for post-war activities, and regimental HQ announced that anyone with a PCS date later than July 1st would have their orders rescinded. I could not believe it - for the second time in my tour at Fulda I was within days of my PCS date and I wasn't going to be allowed to transition. DeGrood didn't make the cutoff date, either - so the two of us went to see MAJ Quinn (who had obviously been promoted from CPT). MAJ Quinn said that he would try to get an exception to policy for the two of us. True to his word, he got back to us shortly after our discussion with good news - he got all the paperwork that we needed; all that we had to do was get COL Bacevich to sign our papers.

(You can see the irony here, can't you?)

So early on a Friday morning DeGrood and I made our way over to regimental HQ in order to see COL Bacevich and request that he sign our paperwork and let us PCS back to the states. We both vividly remembered our history with the RCO, but we were hoping that he didn't remember. When we arrived at the RCO's office he was busy, so his secretary asked us to wait. After a while she said that if we wanted to leave the forms with her, she would make sure that the RCO signed them, and we could pick them up that afternoon. Neither DeGrood nor I wanted to actually see the RCO, so this sounded like a great plan. We left our paperwork and promised to return that afternoon.

The hours ticked by, and the two of us decided to drop by regimental HQ and see if the RCO had signed our paperwork. We arrived at the RCO's office, and only the RCO's secretary was there. (The absence of the RCO was great news.) The secretary said that the RCO had signed our paperwork, and she handed everything back to us. That's when we noticed that DeGrood's paperwork was signed - and mine wasn't. (I swear that I am not making this up.) The secretary remarked that our papers must have stuck together, so she asked if I would leave my paperwork in her office over the weekend and she would make sure that it was signed first thing Monday morning. I hesitantly agreed - but what else was I going to do?

As DeGrood and I left the RCO's office, DeGrood turned to me - and he flashed that same half-grin again. He said, "You know what happened, don't you? I stayed hidden at Mt. Meissner and you pulled that stunt of yours - he's never forgotten your name." Of course that thought was already running through my mind, so I can't say that I found DeGrood's joke all that funny at the time, but many years have gone by and it makes me smile now.

So here's the end of the story - I spent an agonizing weekend worrying what would happen, but I showed up at the RCO's office on Monday to see if he had signed my paperwork. Those who were assigned to the 511th at that time realize that I didn't go to the post-war Gulf with them, so the short answer is - yes, the RCO signed my paperwork.

To this day I do not know if the RCO had actually managed to forget that smart-mouthed NCO who embarrassed him, or if he simply decided to let bygones be bygones.

This 8th installment in my posts from the history of the 511th is the list of things that we learned at Hohenfels 1990, which was written by EW2. I have it in my notes that we nicknamed this field problem "Operation Lost Cause," which still seems appropriate.

Before I get to the list, I have to point one thing out - some of the comments in this list were really, really harsh with regard to their treatment of CPT Quinn. Actually, CPT Quinn was one of my favorite commanders - I mean, any commander that would let his subordinates tackle him and throw him in the mud pit in front of his family and peers has got to be pretty cool, right? I actually think that CPT Quinn (later MAJ Quinn) did more for the morale of the company than MAJ Bute ever did. For as much as everyone looked up to LTC Lesser as our best mission-focused commander, he sometimes didn't seem to care all that much about the morale of his subordinates; this was evidenced when MAJ Bute found a pile of awards which were buried in the company commander's desk that LTC Lesser had never handed out to soldiers before he left the 511th. (Some awards had to be mailed to people that had already ETS'd.) So I disagree with what was said about CPT Quinn, but I can try to put things in perspective - we had no history with CPT Quinn when we went on this deployment, and we had something of a bad first impression. But just because I do not agree with some of these statements doesn't mean that I should start cutting things out of the list - so for the sake of posterity I present the list with all of the comments that I would personally consider unnecessary. (Although I did cut out the profanity.)

Without further adieu, here's the list:

Things we learned at Hohenfels '90

CPT Quinn is a ********, more follows.

TRQ-30 antennas make great chock blocks. (Right 1LT Innocenti?)

We must jump at midnight because we need the practice.

Yes, the TRQ-32 does have a maximum load capacity.

No matter how bad chow gets, it can always get worse.

Jumping can be fun if you do it daily.

T&A teams have short tempers.

The sludge at the bottom of mess hall coffee really isn't toxic. (???)

EW2 can run two weeks without air conditioning in the TRQ-32 while EW1 can't last two minutes.

CPT Quinn is an *******, more follows.

One should pull guard if there is nothing else to do.

When all else fails, kick Myers out of the truck.

The TRQ-30 is the ultimate intercept device. (Not!!!)

Pork every night gets old pretty quickly.

D.A. is incapable of reasonable thought early in the morning, or later for that matter.

Morale gets pretty ugly with no sleep after four weeks in the field and two more to go.

Miles gear can still be entertaining without blanks. (Silent but deadly.)

Everbody wants to be a jammer.

M-8 alarms work better without batteries.

Duerkson can I.C.D. while sleeping 500 yards from a jammer.

Whitfield can never get enough sleep.

J.J. should come to the field, even if he is clearing.

It's amazing how much handcopying English isn't like handcopying Russian.

It always pays to have a radio mechanic and your armorer look at your generator.

MOPP2 is much more fashionable than MOPP1. (Booties are cute.)

Too bad cigars don't keep away officer pests like they do insects.

The new style in EW2 sleepware is the Hoff Stealth Tent.

Landline for field phones only serves as trip wires.

Chow is appreciated more if it's been held a few hours, even more if it's cooked.

CPT Quinn is a ******-******** ***-****** from a festering ***-****, (and Duerkson should know!), more follows.

We all need more driver's training when Service's brakes go out.

There is a difference between the hood and brake release.

You can learn a lot from Taboo Freqs.

Comm's work better with a fill in the Vinson.

You can do a lot of damage with an M-60 and no miles equipment.

Our officers would get us killed if this were real combat.

If you can lie, you can I.C.D.

BCG's look better on Duerkson than real glasses would.

D.A. is secretly a Leprosy carrier.

98C's should always man Trojan when 98G's go to the field.

Alex is the world's biggest shammer, McGee takes a close second.

Never offer D.A. a dip, he'll take the whole can.

It pays to buy quart-sized coffee mugs.

CPT Quinn is a putz, more follows.

The only thing worth buying at the shoppette is the Blonde.

(This is a number not seen at Hohenfels.)

The TRQ-32's DF antennas look much better with chem-lites dangling from them.

Officers don't like lists of things we've learned.

Fred can make mistakes, too.

Sleep deprivation is good for the soul.

You can go for days without shaving, and even then only an officer will notice.

You can get a TRQ-32 level anywhere if you have enough rocks.

If McCollum died, EW1's TRQ-32 squad would be lost forever.

We don't need a TCAE now that we have CPT Quinn.

We all love CPT Quinn's radio procedures, more follows.

It's amazing how much you can not give a s*** about.

You don't need to start the radio watch vehicle all that often.

We need more camo nets. (Not!!!)

You're in the war even if you're not in the box.

Married guys don't really want to see their wives.

Everyone has to stay in the field, but CPT Quinn gets to go home anyway.

Uncle Martin is a coffee-waster.

1LT Innocenti really has no idea what the hell is going on.

Listening to OCE nets gives you an edge on the battle.

Miles gear gets comfortable the more that you wear it. (Not!!!)

You can handcopy on the move even if you can't drink coffee.

It's fun to be the 1LT's driver. (Not!!!)

OCE's are friendly people.

We're all having a great time.

The RCO can live to eat his words. ("EW support sucks in Hohenfels...")

You can still drive vehicles with Class III leaks and broken windshields.

"4-LO" is a wonderful gear.

Life is not complete without shaving.

We just came here to feed the bugs.

Life was easier with Babbs.

EW2 is invisible to armed OPFOR task forces.

There is no such thing as down time.

If you don't want to lose at Mumbly-Peg, play with Jeff Morris.

Hedgehogs sound deceptively large at night.

Night Vision Goggles and flashlights don't mix.

1LT Innocenti does do a good impression of a Mexican.

1LT Innocenti and Flores do know where the bad parts of Houston are. (Wonder why?)

OPFOR sucks.

Reconning can be fun.

Rocks don't make good baseballs, but "out-of-bounds" markers make great bats.

After five weeks with Whitfield you can still hate Rap Music.

You can read a lot of books when you're bored to tears.

When all else fails, scream at the OCE's.

Fred is a self-proclaimed geek.

Myers knows lots of useless facts.

It helps to count the number of days you have left in Fulda.

1LT Innocenti has no life.

OPFOR has no sense of humor.

Whitfield will take a Humvee where no man has gone before.

We make life harder on ourselves by not whining as hard as EW1.

We all have bad attitudes.

If you are winning at Hohenfels, you must be cheating.

One brief explanation for point #12 - there was some steep hill in Hohenfels that EW1 couldn't get their TRQ-32 to climb, no matter who was behind the wheel. Then a few days later EW2 tried to take the hill; several people from EW2 made the attempt with our TRQ-32, but to no avail. That is - until I got behind the wheel, and I ordered Steve "Felix" Myers to get out of the truck. In hindsight, I completely realize that it was just as much luck as skill that enabled me to get that motorized mammoth up the mountain - but that didn't stop me from having the coolest bragging rights for the next few weeks. (FWIW - D.A. Morris was there, and he also failed to get the TRQ-32 up the hill despite several attempts, so he can vouch for my story - just in case you have reason to doubt my sincerity. ;-] )

Today's contribution marks the 7th installment in my series about the 511th MI Company's misadventures, which I collected during my tenure there from 1988 through 1991. This list was composed by the EW2 platoon during the ARTEP of 1991 - I believe it was in April - which we dubbed "Operation Pogo Stick." This name seemed apropos because of the considerable frequency that the EW platoons were required to jump sites, for no apparent reason other than the sheer fun of watching the level of aggravation that it caused. I think that this was the last deployment that I went on with the 511th; shortly after the ARTEP had ended, DeGrood and I got our orders to PCS back to the states, and everyone else got orders to Kuwait.

Things we learned during ARTEP '91

Hot refuels really are (with lanterns).

Point fire extinguishers at flames.

Don't play Russian Roulette with a .45.

Mosquito nets make good kindling.

Calling SGT Tabbert "Larry" is effective aggravation.

Being "killed" is the only way to get a couple hours' sleep.

The Official ARTEP Song: "Jump" by Van Halen.

There are no weapon mounts on HMMWV bumpers.

SGT Rice makes a 2LT with a map look good.

MI-51's radio has a maximum effective range of 100 meters, and MI-52's is about 100 inches.

You can get away at MOPP 0 in a MOPP 1 environment, until the MAJ sees you.

Ken be nimble, Ken be lean, Can't jump over the Concertine. He jump high, he jump low. He get caught, down he go.

TCAE can get tracks to the field, but not back.

Security isn't.

Chase vehicles don't.

The best form of land navigation is a well-informed German.

An unheated, unlit tent and a pile of BOGINT tapes is an effective TRQ-32 simulator (bring your own paper).

The latest in EW sleepware is the DA Morris Improved Stealth Tent.

Mumbly-Peg is easier with the knife unsheathed.

This was a very well thought out, and carefully planned exercise. NOT!!!

Mumbly-Pistol is a game as yet untried.

SGT Cyr relates well with farm animals. ("Moo...")

Reimers can sham out of anything if he really wants to.

Germans on holidays make interesting navigational obstacles.

The TRQ-32 is the coffee-making, radio watch sitting, front seat sleeping, $800,000 car stereo wonder of the 20th century.

Fred can never be in too warm an environment.

The TRQ-32 glove box is hell on the shins.

Handcopying BOGINT in MOPP 3 is a joyous experience.

It's just no fun wearing a protective mask with a runny nose.

GRA-39's make excellent car stereo amplifiers.

TRQ-30 DF antennas are better left in the rear.

M-8 alarms work better without batteries.

We can ID more types of static now.

You can teach the LT something new every day.

LT's aren't sensitive items, but they have feelings, too.

The LT wigs out when challenged.

It was good training. NOT!!!

Who's the a****** who made those 2-minute intercept to 2-hour static tapes?

Blind TCAE geeks should not be allowed to recon intercept sites.

The TACJAM squad is now cross-trained in landscaping.

Duerksen can "hold it" for 4.5 days.

Roddick don't know s*** about whoopie lights.

Menthol cigarettes don't cut it.

Roddick's new discovery - wet newspaper. It camos as it cleans.

It's more fun 4-wheeling.

Starvation is preferable over chili-mac and lima beans.

Duerksen and Roddick can eat a whole cow.

German kids love MREs. (That looks bad as a culture, doesn't it?)

Braddy is too lazy to drive 10 minutes to see us. (So the d*** flew.)

Germans don't like having M-60s pointed at them.

Noise discipline need not be observed near 200 decibel generators.

Propane heaters are heaven.

Rich is a lying son-of-a-b**** when asked about this ARTEP.

The CO has no sense of humor where guard posts are concerned.

O'Conner has no tact.

The TLQ squad is still the Kase-Camo Net Meisters.

It seems like you always jump during your sleep shift.

TCAE goons sleep more in one night than EW geeks do in a whole week.

Mumbly-Peg doesn't work with swiss army knives.

Lanterns with broken globes are somewhat dangerous.

Field coffee isn't.

Guard duty sucks. (That's why officers don't do it, right?)

Vehicles, though forbidden, are still the preferred sleeping areas.

Hooches get simpler the more you jump. ("All I need is a cot...")

The TACJAM squad knows Germany.

After a week in the field, even the locals smell good.

World War II issue maps are not effective navigational tools.

Only the TLQ squad can out Black-6.

(This number is still not seen hereabouts.)

Sure DeGrood has tonsillitis.

Reimers' other foot will be broken upon our return.

When you're a minute early on shift you're the greatest, when you're a minute late you're an a******.

Johnson's magazine subscriptions are enjoyed by all.

Where's the Jam button?

Where's the Fix button?

What freq am I on?

Are we on Zulu or Local time?

Mr. Roller is as effective an NBC alarm as an M-8 without batteries.

Just because it looks like rain doesn't mean that it will.

You know that you need a haircut when you can grow dreads in the field.

Brush guards do.

Brushing your teeth is really a morale booster.

If German's can find our sites, why can't we?

Never ask DA for a light. ("But he looks good with a singed face...")

Burning tents are wonderful reference points at night.

What do Germans do with all that lumber?

The TRQ-32 needs a microwave.

After a week of ARTEP, even TROJAN sounds good.

The TRQ-32 has the only working radio in the PLT.

It's nice to pull radio watch in a vehicle with a good heater.

Cold mornings suck. (1 week from summer.)

We never thought we'd be so happy to see a 1-week field problem end.

Duerksen doesn't like grits.

Groovy man remembers lots of worthless music.

Everybody still wants to be a jammer.

MOPP 1 is quite warm.

Civilian life can't be all that bad.

Newbies whine almost as much as EW1, but not quite.

TCAE can drop the ball, duck the issue, pass the buck, and wash their hands of it better than anyone else.

I wonder what Hohenfels will be like this year...?

In another strange turn of events, after I PCS'd to Fort Huachuca, I met the guy that made those 2-minute intercept to 2-hour static tapes that we mentioned in item #38 of the list, and I wound up working with him. (And just to satisfy anyone's curiosity - yes, he made those on purpose. He was a nice guy, but he had a wicked sense of humor.) Later on, I was asked to create intercept tapes for the MI officer school at Fort Huachuca, and I followed his lead by creating tapes that sounded like HF traffic - with hours and hours of radio printers, static, and morse code transmissions stomping on top of the voice messages. (FYI - The officers hated these tapes - mission accomplished.) But here's a quick behind-the-scenes trivia fact: I didn't actually record any actual radio printer or morse code transmissions from HF frequencies - I created them on my computer. Most radio printer traffic is simple Frequency Shift Key transmissions, so I wrote some algorithms that would allow me to enter a text string into my computer, which would be converted to binary, and then encoded into an audio stream based on a baud rate and space/mark frequencies that I picked. When I was done - they sounded identical to the real thing. So what did all of those ear-splitting radio printer messages actually say if you plugged them into a computer? Things like, "I hate the Army," "I can't wait to ETS," etc. Yes - even then I was a geek.